


the sun crests over mountains and valleys pure and white

by Grand_Phoenix



Category: Tales of Berseria
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Romance, F/F, Female Gaze, Humor, Mutual Pining, Nudism, Sexual Tension, Shipper on Deck!Rokurou, and implied dimension warping elements, but for Doodle it's another Tuesday, but let's be real here none of you are here for that, implied criminal backstory, random original character cameo from another fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-02 01:11:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15785892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grand_Phoenix/pseuds/Grand_Phoenix
Summary: There's no need to go higher when you're already looking at heaven. (Or, Eleanor oughta bust that blasted A/C more often.)





	the sun crests over mountains and valleys pure and white

“Velvet? Are you home?” Eleanor asks...but of course, she is; her motorcycle’s right in the driveway and the garage door is open. It would be locked up if she wasn’t, but there are no sounds coming from inside the house save for the rotary fans in the garage that are on oscillate.

Also, the dog is outside...but Doodle has a habit of going wherever he pleases, so Eleanor doesn’t take his sudden appearances (and disappearances) into account. That at least lets her know the master of the house is around. “Velvet?” she calls a little louder.

“In the back,” her voice responds. “What’s up?”

“You got a spare fan I can borrow? The A/C blew out. My check won’t be in until Friday.” Another two days, but the weather forecast called for a slight drop in humidity, so with every other fan going it’ll give her some small reprieve from the heat. That old thing was going to bust sooner or later, although she’d rather hoped it busted later before the turn of the season then at the very peak of summer.

A sound of affirmation. “Yeah, I got one you can use. Give me a moment; I’m almost done watering.”

Eleanor smiles. Velvet’s garden is her pride and joy, an old pastime that’s always been with her and, even after the troubles passed and the conviction turned over, never quite forsaken her. It was Grimoirh’s suggestion, as much as to find some semblance of solace in starting over as it was to keep her head down and her mouth shut. Money talks but money doesn’t always walk, and so it was that Velvet moved here in this part of town that wasn’t inundated with music from the night clubs and not too far from the farmer’s markets she was more content to haggle with than overpriced supermarkets (what Eizen loves to say are run by ‘deputized robber barons’, but what does he know).

And so she has, in return for Grimoirh most likely pulling more than a few strings to secure her the house and freedom of pretty much every utility it has to offer. That, and the job down at the local auto shop a couple blocks down, which gave her just enough to socket some away in the bank and buy food for both her and Doodle.

(Doodle didn’t come with the house. In fact, no one knows where he came from. He simply showed up one day with a red collar on his neck and a burnished gold dog tag that depicts his name. When Eleanor managed to take a look at it one time when he sat in her lap, she also saw the initials S.W. below it. On the back of the tag is an inscription: “Don’t mind Doodle. He comes and goes as he pleases. He knows his way back. Take care of him for me while he’s away. - S.W.”

(“The owner must be either too trusting or too stupid to let a dog roam free like this,” Velvet had said. “I can understand maybe kids, but animals? Does he look like a horse to you?”

(“No, he doesn’t,” Eleanor had said, looking at Doodle’s benevolent smile, “but if the owner has this much faith in Doodle, then I think you should, too.”

(“Eh.”

(It’s been almost two years since the trial and about a year and a half since Doodle popped up out of nowhere. His first visit to the vet showed he had all his shots and was in good health for a Samoyed-Husky mix, other than the curious lack of growth—which the vet stated might’ve been a deformity until the tests came back negative—and an abnormality in his bloodstream that, once Velvet’s bank account was drained dry, revealed was ultimately benign.

(Other than that, things have been peachy-keen. Velvet doesn’t mind having him around—that is, once she got past grumbling about the previous owner’s seemingly unconcerned attitude for their dog after the first month. Eleanor certainly doesn’t, either.)

Neither does Doodle. “Woof!” he says, picking his head up from his place on the lawn chair. There’s a happy, friendly expression on his face that makes it seem like he’s smiling.

“Hey, boy,” Eleanor says, and mashes his face with both hands before the fur between his ears. “I need to see your master for a moment, okay?” He cocks his head when she pulls back, tail thumping, and watches her go as she picks her way through the garage. “I’m inside,” she calls. “How’s the garden holding up?”

“So far so good. Rains haven’t drowned the most of them yet, so they’re hanging in there. I give it a couple more weeks before I see anything come up.”

The sound of the water from the gardening hose slapping the planets—tomatoes and zucchinis, jalapeno peppers and cucumbers—is much louder now. It could be because she’s inside the garage, but Eleanor likes to imagine Velvet’s rounding the corner as the rack for the hose and the valve that controls the flow of the backyard’s pipes are a walk across the door. Judging by her footsteps, it would appear she’s doing just that.

Eleanor is halfway across the garage when she hears a soft chuff and the sound of paws hitting the cement floor. Doodle comes up to stand beside her, tail wagging, ears pointed forward. She smiles. “You want to see her, too, huh?” Doodle woofs an affirmative, still smiling. It’s the kind of expression that melts her heart, tops her bank account with the highest Powerball amount in existence, parts the clouds from the sky, and blesses the rain down in Africa.

If only everyone could have a smile like that. Maybe, a voice whispers in the back of her mind, it would get people to stop subtly hinting to hook up with someone—anybody, they would insist, just to get with the program.

Feeling as though world peace has been achieved, Eleanor turns and goes through the door. “So how’s your day been--”

Everything stops. Nothing comes out, even though this is a moment where she’d be justified to do so. Except she doesn’t; not only does her heart give out, the lungs stop giving her breath, too. The world, for lack of a better descriptive term, tilts under her feet.

For one perfect second, she is rendered clinically dead. The last thing she sees, eyes wide open, is skin: pure, white skin taking on the lightest shade of bronze from the sun. Pure, white skin on a body that stands taller than her, long black hair and holding a garden nose that does nothing to hide those well-endowed breasts and every dip and curve that body has to offer.

Pure, white skin.

_Holy shit._

Suddenly, Doodle barks—twice, and it’s as if the very sound has snatched her soul from the heavens and dragged it right the hell back down from the sky and slam dunks it back into her body with the sound of angels singing. It says YOUR TIME HAS NOT YET COME—and no, no it hasn’t, Eleanor thinks, and stares at Velvet. There are muscles in her arms, defined and prominent. Her gaze drags lower, past her breasts, takes a vague glimpse of rock-solid thighs and calves riddled with old, white scars.

Then her eyes fly back up to her midriff and drinks in the etched muscles defining her abdomen, enhanced from scars brought on by old knife wounds, contracting and retracting with each breath.

Nostrils flaring, Eleanor swallows. Her mouth is dry, her head is pounding, and the day has suddenly gotten much, much warmer. “...Hi,” she says.

Velvet looks up and stares back, eyes hooded as a sunbathing cat and not disturbed whatsoever. “Oh. Hey. What’s up?”

_My blood pressure,_ Eleanor wants to say, and it almost comes out. Instead, her brain kicks into overdrive, gets into the cockpit, and takes control: smooth sailing, easy gliding. “You’re naked.”

“Yeah. I always garden in the buff; that’s why I asked for fences. Sun feels good, ya know.”

_Oh my good lord._ A wave of faint comes and goes. “Velvet,” she stresses, “I could’ve been Magilou.” Underneath all that heat, a chill runs up her spine, down her neck, and into her heart. By the Empyreans and all the gods above, the amount of legal red tape it would take to untangle and all the blood that would have to be scrubbed clean would be astronomical.

But Velvet shakes her head. “Nah, I knew it wasn’t her. You see that panel over there?” She points behind her, to which Eleanor turns around and sees the white plate above the threshold of the door.

“Yeah.”

“Remember that gang I used to run with? The Bloodwings?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Now, do you remember that ‘block party’ that was going on a month back?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Magilou decided to crash my house the night it was going on and all but dragged me out into the streets. I still don’t know why, even after she told I had to ‘stop being a nerd’ and breathe ‘real air’…which doesn’t make sense, seeing as I pretty much half-in, half-out of where you’re standing in, doing a bit of stargazing.” She nods sagely, as if to herself. “This far out from the city, you’d be surprised to know there are a lot more stars than you would take granted for. It’s kinda like lookin’ at heaven.”

_But it’s right here,_ her brain says, and something stirs upon hearing that statement. It’s small and quiet, but it’s warm and light and it almost feels like Eleanor is either going to fade away like the last ember from a campfire or go over her head in water and drown. It would not be an entirely unpleasant feeling, were it not for one specific detail that hauls her ass ashore and piques her interest: “Wait. What does this have to do with that panel?”

“Well, seeing as this is Magilou we’re talking about, she got a bit too reckless with making her so-called grand entrance and slashed her hands open; don’t ask how, but she did. Normally I’d put her nose in it and have her clean it up, as well as pay for any collateral damage and goods she might have ‘accidentally swiped’ on her way out...but I didn’t spend those three years on the street just dicking around, you know. So I did a bit of my own...let’s say CSI work, okay, and went to the Bloodwings to get this bad boy cranked out. Not for free, of course. You know how Tabatha works.”

“Y-Yeah.” Eleanor gives the panel a second, longer searching glance, which looks exactly like an outdoor thermometer. Certainly not out of place at all in this humblest of suburban abodes. “But how would you be able to tell when someone like Magliou barges in?”

“Ah,” Velvet says, “that’s a secret I can’t divulge; I swore not to tell. Tabatha’s words. But don’t worry, the Leech Finder would have alerted me if it was her. In fact, she’s the only one I have so far. In time, I’ll add more brown-nosers to it. Just keep this between us, alright? It’s not patented nor government regulated.”

“I don’t know anything,” Eleanor says. Neither does Doodle, when he barks in accompanying agreement. She can’t help but think what a lucky little guy he is to be incapable of speaking the human language.

“Good,” says Velvet. “There are enough crazies running around at night as it is. I don’t like having surprise visits.” She twists around to pull the length of hose across the lawn a little closer to her.

Nearly all the way around; Eleanor sets her jaw and swallows too audibly for her comfort, forcing herself not to be a prude and look away. But good, holy god, those _glutes_ \--

Doodle barks again and brushes his nose against her leg, which is cold and wet and yanks her soul back onto the earthly plane for the second time tonight. NOT YET, it says, and he’s right, it’s not time to die standing up yet. She licks her lips, sucks in a breath of dry, warm air and manages to just barely compose herself as soon as Velvet regards her in all her naked splendor. “…What about me?” she asks. “I mean, i-it wasn’t unannounced but it was, uh, a surprise. You know? Won’t you need my blood, too, so you’d know when I’m coming?”

(It takes her brain three seconds for it to click and screams into her limbic system and brain stem that that’s _not what she meant._ )

Velvet blinks, taken aback. Then she scoffs and rolls her shoulders back...muscles that are flexing flawlessly and seamlessly underneath the skin. “I only use the Finder for nuisances,” she drawls, “and, well”--she locks eyes with Eleanor and gives her a small smile, almost a smirk, lined with the barest hint of teeth-- “you’re anything but. Besides, if I took your blood, then you wouldn’t be able to see all this, would you? I’m surprised you haven’t bolted yet.” She issues a low, growling chuckle at that.

The sound sends a fresh pang of heat in Eleanor’s breast. “It’s, er, no different from mine. We’ve seen each other, you know...naked…before. In the bathhouses downtown. Wh-What would there be to be run away from?”

“Mmm, yeah, you’re right. But how many people do you know that garden like this?”

_Just you. And only you. Let’s keep it that way--_ “No one else, really. It’s...different, but if it gets the job done then more power to you.”

“Of course,” Velvet says slowly. “Of course. So,” she draws out the word and sets her mouth in a thin, smug grin, “wanna give me more and join me next time?”

(“You said yes, right?” Rokurou asks Eleanor later that night, once he’s read her texts to get his ass down to the local bar and they’re tucked away in the darkest, farthest corner where no one can listen in on them. “You did, didn’t you?!” He leans forward, eyes wild and excited.

“No!” she cries, uncomfortably aware yet uncaring of all the startled, curious glances she’s drawn her way. “No!” she says again, a little more weakly, and glances around for the bartender. He’s conspicuously absent. Also, her mug is empty. Goddammit. “I didn’t say--”

“You totally did! Look at your face!” Rokurou exclaims, and busts out laughing so loudly it drowns out the baseball game on the TV overhead. “Hell yeah! That’s my girl!” He gives her a hearty smack on the back that just about drives her face into the hardwood counter. “You’re gonna get laid in no time!”

“Not right away! Not yet!” Eleanor says, and for a brief moment they stare at each other in silence. Then he grins, and the full weight of her words comes crashing down on her in a wave of embarrassing warmth. “I mean--!”

Rokurou throws his head back and cackles, clutching his stomach and spinning around in his seat so his back is facing her and he’s doubled over wheezing like a freight train.

This would be the perfect opportunity to take her mug and beat him over the head with it while he’s preoccupied. Sadly it’s plastic, and giving him what for will just prolong the suffering and probably put her in the joint for the rest of the night. So Eleanor disregards him with a huff, finds the bartender coming back around the corner, and gestures for a refill.

She said maybe, she wants to say to him. Or, at least, that was her initial response. But those biceps, those calves, those abs and that ass could not, would not, and cannot be ignored. What warm-blooded mammal would?)

It’s not until the following morning she remembers the broken A/C and the fan. She’s just taken the tea off the pot and passes the window to go to the table to sit. Then she stops, backpedals her steps, and peers outside where, across the yard in the next house over, Velvet walks out with Doodle in nothing but a sleeveless jean jacket, a low-cut crop top, and goddamn booty shorts that make her legs go on and on and _on_.

They stop, and even from here Eleanor can see the smug, predatory smirk sent her way. “Good morning, Eleanor.”

_Good morning, indeed,_ she thinks, a little too eagerly and eyes staying a little too long on that body. _Hello, neighbor._ With a shaky breath and a face so hot it's a surprise the skin hasn't burned off, she removes herself from view and drains all the tea in one long, aching pull. “Praise be,” she gasps, and salutes the heavens with the upraised cup.

**Author's Note:**

> This surprisingly did not (to my knowledge, anyway) come out of my usual forays at work. Rather, it was upon learning about World Naked Gardening Day and...well, you know how the mind works.
> 
> On the other hand, this took me at least almost four months to get off my ass and write this because I'm awkward trash when it comes to anything outside writing about people going through psychological trauma, DEEPEST LORE, people getting walloped to varying bloody degrees, and random shenanigans that involve character assassination and breaking canon for shits and giggles. So I sat down last week and decided to get it out of my system while I still had the guts to do it.
> 
> Besides, Velvet's hot and I needed a much-needed excuse to write thirsty!Eleanor as a way to up my game from _so close you can put it in your hands_. It all works out in the end.


End file.
